


i speak in future tense

by straddling_the_atmosphere



Category: Emerald City (TV 2016)
Genre: Backstory, Character Study, Introspection, M/M, Memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-22 04:09:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9583001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/straddling_the_atmosphere/pseuds/straddling_the_atmosphere
Summary: Eamonn remembers when Lucas was Roan. Oh, does he remember.





	

**Author's Note:**

> me: someone write me backstory about eamonn and lucas (when he was roan)  
> also me: binch, write a little bit yourself

Here is what Eamonn knew about Roan:

When they were young, it was a world of sharp teeth and sharper knives, thick skin and snarls. When they were young, Roan was the high born. Roan was the boy pale skin, glittering eyes, wiry and desperate to please, to excel. 

Eamonn was the wild boy, hair dark and unruly, curling along his jaw. Fingers rough from working all his life, skin tanned and dark under the Oz sun. 

Roan was a flower, who bloomed under praise. Eamonn had been like broken glass–shattered–in the some angles, he might have once been beautiful, but now he is a weapon.

He remembers–-

He remembers the _scent_ of him, his chest rising and falling under him after a hard day of training, when he’d caught him unawares with a fist to his jaw. Remembers the musk and the sweat, bitter and hot. Remembers his wild eyes and that grin, when he’d said, _I think that was cheating._

_There are rules?_

Roan had laughed, still panting, and Eamonn remembers–-

The line of his curved bared neck, the taste of salt on his tongue. He remembers a beating heart under the palm of his hand. He remembers _noises,_ soft pants and ragged gasps, the sound of his nails gripping the sheets, the slight sharp tear.

He remembers becoming a soldier, standing side by side, too young by far, wide grins and bright eyes, remembers shoving Roan against the wall of a dark lit hallway, hiding their drunken laughter inside their mouths.

He also remembers his first kill. The coppery taste of blood on his teeth, of red seeping into the acrid sand. He remembers Roan, gently taking his sword, then handing it to him later, clean, shiny like nothing ever happened.

After that first death, it’s hard to calculate the others beyond the stench of decay that lingers in his throat.

There was one thing about Roan-–he wanted it, but he never needed it. Eamonn _needed,_ he needed his role, his position. He needed to send money home to his family, his cousins with their wide brown eyes and soft brown skin, his aunts and uncles who’d sent him away to do better than them. Roan had no one, _Just a legacy_ , he’d said with a wry twist of his lips. 

It meant it was easier for him to throw it away. It was easier for him to disagree and disappear. Later, when he was _Lucas_ who looked at a girl with gold on her hands like she was the sun, well. Eamonn remembered.

Here is the thing about the boys who want it versus the boys who need it: they either kill each other or they splinter apart.


End file.
